


Closer

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [8]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-16 14:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3492410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis is a little tipsy - which basically negates the restraint he has left. Porthos is a little more in control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



Aramis may be a little tipsy. Just a little. Or maybe a lot. He can’t really tell. He had a few glasses of champagne, but that was _hours_ ago. And now he feels warm and relaxed and happy – most of all with Porthos’ arm, which he is snuggling, quite enthusiastically, right at this very moment. Porthos’ coat is very soft. Aramis likes that a lot.

They’re on their way home from the soiree. Since it’s a nice night and the apartment isn’t too far, they’re walking home – breathing in the fresh cool air and looking up at the stars. This part of town is relatively quiet at night, with only the occasional car driving past them, and Aramis doesn’t really pay all that much attention to where he’s going. Porthos will lead him home safely – and if he doesn’t, Athos will.

“I like your coat,” Aramis tells Porthos’ arm and strokes his hands up and down the soft fabric while pushing his face into Porthos’ shoulder. “’S nice.”

Porthos makes an amused noise, and Aramis can _feel_ him turn his head and look straight at Athos. “Your Mom bought the good stuff again.”

“He only had three glasses of champagne,” Athos says softly, and touches Aramis’ elbow all too briefly. “I thought he would be fine with all the cheese-sticks he ate.”

“I _am_ fine,” Aramis insists, and squeezes Porthos’ arm in a very loving manner. “I’m feeling great!”

Porthos chuckles and pulls his arm away, only to bring it back around Aramis’ shoulders seconds later. “You’re glowin’ like one of ‘em bugs,” he teases Aramis, pulls him as close as he possibly can. “I bet your butt could light up the whole street.”

Athos clears his throat at that point, but he does not say a single word.

Aramis giggles. “You wanna see?”

Athos clears his throat a little louder. “Oh dear.”

Aramis blinks. Definitely tipsy then. He flushes hotly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Porthos murmurs, brushing a kiss to his forehead, “I loved that. Athos can handle it.”

“Oh can I?” Athos drawls in a fond voice. “How nice of you to inform me.” He touches Aramis’ elbow again, a little longer this time, more emphatically. “It really is alright though.”

“It’s cute how you prefer my boyfriend over me these days, really, I love it,” Porthos informs Athos with a wide grin. “Should’ve known this would happen.”

“Yes you should,” Athos shoots back, “he is much nicer than you are after all.”

“I am _not_ ,” Aramis objects in a passionate voice. “Porthos is the _nicest_ , most handsome –“ He stops himself, blinks again. “You were teasing, weren’t you?”

“You’re adorable,” Porthos tells him, puts both arms around Aramis and squeezes him. “And yes, he was teasing. Although you are really, really nice – definitely the most handsome – and you standin’ up for me like this is really very gratifyin’.”

Aramis is too tipsy to hold in the sigh that wants out in reaction to that. He pushes his face into Porthos’ neck, breathes him in. “You smell nice.”

“I suggest we take him home,” Athos says quietly. “It’s getting cold.”

“You heard ‘im, darlin’,” Porthos whispers into Aramis’ ear. “Let’s get you home.”

Aramis lets out a little noise of protest when Porthos forces him to abandon the pleasant task of nuzzling his neck, but he starts to walk eagerly enough. They’ll be home soon. In bed. Together.

“No filter either – we have to keep him away from Flea when he’s drunk,” Athos says suddenly – Aramis has no idea why. “She would finally give Charon that aneurysm he keeps talking about.”

“Yeah, we don’t want that,” Porthos chuckles, and brushes another kiss to Aramis’ forehead. “You should’ve told us you can’t hold your champagne.”

“I never had any before,” Aramis tells him innocently. “I really liked it – it was _good_.”

“So we gather,” Athos says, and he sounds so fondly amused that Aramis _has_ to turn his head and look at him.

Athos graces him with a smile – a really nice one – and takes Aramis’ free arm, squeezes it gently. “You had fun this evening, yes?”

There’s a hint of cautious worry in his voice now, and Aramis nods, doesn’t want Athos to harbour a single doubt about his enjoyment of the evening. “It was great,” he assures Athos earnestly. “Of course it wouldn’t have been half as nice without you and Porthos – but your Mom was really very lovely, I couldn’t imagine a better hostess.” He beams at Athos. “She promised me to visit the shop, you know – Constance will be so pleased!”

Athos squeezes his arm again. “Yes, mother told me that she wants to pay your shop a visit. Just make sure she doesn’t steamroll right over you.”

“He’s got Constance to protect ‘im,” Porthos says quietly. “I don’t think she’s one to be steamrolled easily.”

“No, she’s fierce,” Aramis agrees happily. “One day that society lady came in and expected to be treated like the Queen of England, and wanted all her dresses for free – for the advertising that her wearing Constance’s dresses would be you know – and Constance put on this _face_ and got all meek and weird, and said that she was sorry for Madame and ‘her circumstances’, but she couldn’t afford to give her more than one dress for half its price –“ He stumbles and is caught by two sets of hands, and continues as though nothing had happened, “and the lady got all flustered and said that she’d of course always intended to pay the full price on all other dresses.”

Athos makes an unimpressed face. “Far too many ladies of my mother’s acquaintance spring to mind.”

“But your Mom isn’t like that,” Porthos reminds him in a calm voice. “Thankfully.”

“Your mother is _so nice_ ,” Aramis stresses, because he can’t stress that fact enough. “She said the suit Constance and I made you is _beautiful_.”

“She has always been an honest woman,” Athos says with a little smile. “All three suits are sublime – did you not see the way the ladies had their eyes on Porthos all night?”

Aramis sighs again, leans into Porthos and gets a little kiss, and Porthos tells Athos to be quiet.

“Only being honest,” Athos insists, and smirks when Aramis grabs the lapels of Porthos’ coat.

“He’s right, Porthos – they _were_ looking at you.”

Porthos gazes down at Aramis, his eyes shimmering in the dark – and then he’s leaning in, lifting his hands to Aramis’ cheeks and keeping him still while he kisses him … soft warm lips on Aramis’, insistent and gentle, utterly sweet. Aramis goes boneless against him while his fingers grip Porthos’ coat a little tighter. He holds on to Porthos with everything he has. He opens his mouth for Porthos, just a little, parts his lips and invites him in, and Porthos lets out a little growl and licks into Aramis’ mouth, just once – then he pulls back.

“Home,” he says in a decisive voice while Aramis tries to blink through the pink mist suddenly obscuring his vision. “Now.”


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis is pouting. Or at least he’s trying to. The toothbrush in his mouth is making things difficult. As is Porthos.

It is close to three o’ clock in the morning, they are standing shoulder to shoulder in the bathroom – each in front of his own sink – and Aramis is displeased. Not with the bathroom. It’s a nice bathroom. Big and clean and _generous_. The two sinks are just the tip of the iceberg. Not with their state of undress, for both of them are down to wearing nothing but their boxers, which is at once a blessing and a curse. Because Porthos is refusing to give Aramis what he wants. Which is mainly cuddles, but also kisses. Lots of them. ALL THE KISSES.

“I wanna kiss,” Aramis mumbles accordingly around the toothbrush in his mouth, “I wanna –“

Porthos spits into the sink, rinses his mouth, and puts his arm around Aramis. He pulls him close, and drops a minty-fresh kiss on Aramis’ curls. “Brush your teeth.”

Apparently Porthos thinks Aramis is drunk. Which is nonsense, of course. Aramis isn’t drunk, he’s merely slightly tipsy. Very slightly. And he wants to kiss Porthos, preferably while in bed and more or less naked. The thought alone makes him go all hot. He’s waited so long for the right moment, and since Porthos knows the truth now and never even tried to take advantage of him, Aramis really thinks –

“You’re starin’ off into space, darlin’,” Porthos says in a low voice, tinged with fond amusement. “Dreamin’ about somethin’ nice?”

“You,” Aramis tells him, and commences to clean his teeth in a vigorously efficient fashion. The sooner he gets this done, the sooner Porthos is going to take him to bed. Where they can kiss. Aramis squirms a bit. He's been half hard for at least thirty minutes now, and when he becomes aware that Porthos is waiting for him to finish, that he’s _looking_ at him, it only gets worse. Or better, depending on how you want to look at it. Aramis certainly enjoys Porthos looking at _him_ , especially now that he has decided to –

“You’re doin’ it again, darlin’,” Porthos says, gently teasing this time.

Aramis blinks and resumes brushing his teeth, finishes only moments later. Porthos doesn’t seem surprised when Aramis puts his arms around him, hugs him back right away – even squeezes him a little. “Ready for bed?”

Instead of answering, Aramis presses closer to him, no longer just impatient, but needy. He needs Porthos’ warmth and his strength, needs to hold on to him. It has been so very long since he’s been with anyone, since he’s allowed himself to let go, and Aramis feels as though he’s fraying at the edges. He needs Porthos to hold him, needs him to – needs him to _take care of him_ , and since that’s such a frightening thing to ask for, Aramis doesn’t ask. He offers instead.

“If you want to,” he says in a low voice, “you can have me.”

The room goes silent for a long moment. Then Porthos lifts Aramis’ chin and kisses him – kisses him deeply, right away, crouches down to put his hands on Aramis’ thighs and lifts him up, makes Aramis gasp and moan. It’s not Porthos’ strength that has attracted Aramis right from the very beginning. It’s what he _does_ with it. It’s his gentle, careful nature underneath the strength, his protectiveness. Porthos has not a mean bone in his body, not one mean muscle, and now that he’s using all those _nice_ muscles to carry Aramis out of the bathroom and into his bedroom it drives Aramis a little crazy. He can’t stop himself, can’t hold back anymore – rubs his hardening cock against Porthos’ stomach, makes him hum into the kiss.

Aramis is panting when Porthos lowers him onto the bed, gentle and careful as ever. He looks up at Porthos, and all he finds in his gaze is warmth … warmth with the suggestion of spiking heat, the suggestion of arousal. He watches Porthos put one knee onto the mattress, holds his breath when Porthos leans over him – sighs into another kiss.

“You’re still a bit drunk, aren’t you?” Porthos asks him when he comes back up for air, and Aramis whines, tries to pull him back down and pouts again when Porthos lies down at his side instead.

“It doesn’t matter, I promise!”

Porthos takes his hand and squeezes it, kisses his knuckles. “You said I can have you.”

Aramis takes a hasty breath and fails to hide his body’s reaction to the words – the slight twitch of his hips, the spreading wetness at the front of his shorts. “I – I meant it,” he whispers, grabs the sheets with his free hand. “You can … you can do whatever you want with me.”

A slight frown appears on Porthos’ face, and disappears just as quickly as it came. “I can?” he asks, and Aramis nods, bites his bottom lip and closes his eyes.

“I … I told you. I like … I like everything.”

“Yeah,” Porthos murmurs. “You told me. So how about you do whatever you want with me instead?”

Aramis opens his eyes and stares up at Porthos. He cannot possibly have heard that right.

“What?” he asks, his voice very nearly giving up on him during that one word.

Porthos is still holding his hand, lifts it to his mouth again and presses a kiss to its palm. “’M really good at bein’ of service, and just like you, I like pretty much everythin’,” he replies calmly. “And since I’m sober, it would make me feel better if you’re the one decidin’ what we do.”

Aramis blinks, and blinks again. “I’m not that drunk,” he hears himself say, the same moment that his body decides it wants Porthos on top of him. So he reaches out his free hand and pulls with both, pulls Porthos in and kisses him. Porthos gives in, kisses him back and covers Aramis’ body with his own. He’s big and he’s heavy, and although he doesn’t give Aramis all of his weight, he gives him enough of it to make Aramis squirm in pleasure. The front of his shorts is pretty much soaked by now, and Aramis can’t stop himself from spreading his legs and wrapping them around Porthos.

He needs this, has needed it for a while, and Porthos’ warmth only makes him go down that much faster. Aramis can’t stop moaning, can’t stop whining into the kiss – can’t stop his hips from twitching. His head is swimming, he can taste his heartbeat in his throat, and his whole body is burning with the need to find completion. He can’t bring himself to let go of Porthos, clings to him in helpless arousal, and whimpers when Porthos starts to move – when he starts to move his hips, rubs his own cock against Aramis’, barely muted by the fabric of their underwear.

Aramis gasps, is so close to coming that he can feel it at the base of his spine. He doesn’t want this to end, doesn’t ever want this to end, but it has been _so long_. He breaks the kiss and throws his head back, tries to catch his breath, tries to catch himself from falling. But Porthos doesn’t stop moving, keeps circling his hips, languid and slow now that they’re no longer kissing.

Aramis stares up at him, stares up at Porthos’ face, illuminated by the bedside lamp, and he loves the expression in Porthos’ eyes, loves it so much that he has to look away. Porthos makes him feel safe, makes him feel loved – makes him hornier than he’s been in a very long time. Aramis is overwhelmed and a little bit scared, mostly of the way Porthos makes him forget how to think. He really could do _anything_ to Aramis. Could do anything to him, and Aramis would love every second of it.

He whimpers as the thought sends a bolt of heat right through him, spreads his legs a little wider, hooks his ankles behind Porthos’ ass. Porthos makes a pleased little noise and leans in to brush a kiss to Aramis’ mouth, makes him turn his head so he can look at him right afterwards. “You enjoyin’ yourself, darlin’?”

Aramis needs a long moment before he remembers how to speak.

“It feels good,” he eventually gets out – doesn’t recognize his voice, all dreamy and soft. “You … you feel really good.”

“So do you,” Porthos tells him. There is just enough earnest honesty in his voice to make Aramis bite his lip and arch his back.

Porthos makes another pleased noise, and then he grabs Aramis’ hips, his hands so big and hot on his skin that Aramis’ eyes roll back into his head.

“Porthos,” he moans, “Porthos, please …”

“You don’t have to hold back,” Porthos whispers. “Just let go.”

With the result that Aramis comes into his shorts like a teenager.


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis is _mortified_. He should have known this would happen, should have known he’d ruin it by … well. By being _hasty_ yet again. Porthos takes one look at his face and frowns, can already read him so well that it would make Aramis all happy and fluttery if he wasn’t on the brink of fleeing the bed right now.

“What’s that face?” Porthos asks him, and very carefully moves to the side, off of Aramis and his traitorous body. “Are you ok?”

Aramis bites his lip and closes his eyes, holds in a whimper and lets out the facts instead. “I came.”

“So?” Porthos asks, stroking a big warm hand over Aramis’ chest. “I told you to.”

That puts things into perspective, and Aramis peeks his eyes open, looks at Porthos through his lashes. “But you –“

“I’m gonna clean you up,” Porthos proclaims, gets off the bed and vanishes out of the room … returns with a warm, wet washcloth and a fluffy towel before Aramis can start to fret.

Porthos is still visibly hard when he gets back on the bed, and Aramis bites his lip again, but for entirely different reasons. “Don’t you want to –“

“Gimme a sec,” Porthos interrupts him gently – and proceeds to pull down Aramis’ shorts.

Aramis is somewhat _used_ to being manhandled in bed, but not like this. Not to be cared for. Yet that is precisely what Porthos does. He cleans him up, gentle and thorough, and once he’s done he hunts down a fresh pair of boxers for Aramis to wear, even goes so far as to help him into his pyjama bottoms.

By the time he’s done Aramis’ orgasm has caught up with him, has made him sleepy and content, and chased any and all anxiety out the window. He smiles up at Porthos when he’s done with dressing him, sleepy and grateful, tells him he’s wonderful. Porthos smiles back and lies down next to him, pulls Aramis into his arms and gives him a kiss. The physical closeness reminds Aramis that Porthos is far from satisfied, and he squirms. He thinks he should _do_ something, should take care of Porthos the same way Porthos took care of him. … Well. Not entirely the same way.

“It’s late,” Porthos says just when Aramis decides to offer him his mouth, “We should sleep.”

Aramis blinks up at him, sluggish and tired, and horribly confused. “But you didn’t come.”

Porthos smiles at him again. “I’m gonna live. You on the other hand look ready to drop.”

“No-o-o,” Aramis protests with a little pout, “I want to make you feel good too – I want to touch you.”

“And you think that offer’s off the table when the sun’s up?” Porthos teases him in a fond voice. “Did you make a deal with a fairy godmother? Did she have a magic wand? Because I’m not goin’ anywhere darlin.”

He lifts his hand to brush the hair off Aramis’ forehead, cups his cheek. “I’m still gonna be here in the mornin’.”

Aramis makes a little noise, turns his face into Porthos’ palm, and just about manages to hold back a declaration of love. Because he loves Porthos, is absolutely sure that he does, but it’s rather too soon to alert Porthos to that fact. At least Aramis thinks so. He keeps his eyes closed and drifts a bit, comes willingly when Porthos pulls him in against his chest. He’s asleep mere seconds later.

 

Wakefulness returns to Aramis around noon on the following day. He’s warm and content, stretches out luxuriously on the mattress, nuzzles into Porthos’ chest with a little sigh, and blinks his eyes open. His memory is eager to return yesterday’s events to him, and he holds his breath, digests what happened with a mind that is somewhat clearer than it was on the previous night.

Porthos was … he really was wonderful, and Aramis is glad that he told him as much. He lifts his head, finds Porthos still asleep and gazes at his face for a long, long moment. Porthos is smiling in his sleep. Aramis wants to kiss him, but at the same time he doesn’t want to wake him up. So he refrains, even if it takes a lot of self-control.

Porthos’ nose is still the best he’s ever seen, the scar over his eye is still as attractive as it is intriguing. The sunlight falling in through the window does its best to illuminate Porthos’ features, manages to make his dimples look even more appealing than they usually do. Aramis takes a deep breath and sits up, gnaws on his bottom lip for a while, and eventually gets up. Breakfast. He will make Porthos breakfast, and serve it to him in bed. It’s the least he can do really. Aramis stumbles out of Porthos’ room, down the hall and into the common area, where he finds Athos preparing coffee, calm and peaceful and a balm to Aramis’ rattled nerves.

“Good morning,” Athos says quietly, looking Aramis over, “I take it he is still asleep?”

This is of course the moment Aramis realizes that he’s half-naked. He can barely stop himself from covering his chest. He doesn’t even know where the impulse _comes_ from.

Athos looks at him, and a slow smile spreads over his face. “How about some coffee?”

Aramis thanks him and receives a cup, blinks at it as though he’s never seen foamed milk before. There’s a heart in the milk. It starts out as a leaf, waves of white in the brown of the coffee, and then it ends in a little heart. _A heart._ It’s probably nothing but an accident, but Aramis still goes warm all over, thanks Athos in a hoarse voice. He sits down at the kitchen isle, stares down into his cup, can’t fight the little smile taking over his mouth. He’s just so _lucky_.

Being with Porthos is already far more wonderful than should be legal, but he’s not only with Porthos, by a stroke of incredible luck he’s with Athos too, and Athos is just as wonderful, is just as kind and gentle and caring, and both of them are so much better to him than he deserves. Athos puts the cookie jar on the counter, right under Aramis’ nose, and Aramis’ smile widens. Athos doesn’t cook, but that doesn’t mean he can’t spoil him rotten.

“I am about to meet my friend Ninon in town for a late brunch,” Athos announces in a low, almost bored voice. “I will probably be out until evening.”

The silence that follows is ripe with meaning, and Aramis sits up straight when he finally realises what Athos is telling him. “You don’t have to –“

“Yes, I do,” Athos interrupts him gently. “Ninon is a very busy woman, and she would do me bodily harm should I fail to obey her summons.”

Aramis is fairly easy to fluster, he knows that, but the current situation would be embarrassing under the best circumstances. He flushes scarlet.

Athos puts a hand on his shoulder, looks no longer bored nor does he pretend to do anything but leave the apartment for Aramis and Porthos’ sake any longer. “I am giving you privacy,” he says quietly. “That is all. It is entirely up to you what you do with it. I just thought you might like to … be alone together for once.”

He smiles, somewhat strained and self-depreciating. “It should be a relief for both you and Porthos to not have me hanging around the apartment for one day.”

Aramis puts his cup down, turns around on his barstool, and draws Athos into a hug. He just can’t help it. Athos is being foolish beyond permission.

“You’re his best friend,” Aramis mumbles into Athos' shoulder, “and he loves you … loves having you around … and so do I. It’s not …” He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. “It’s not your fault we haven’t slept together yet.”

Athos clears his throat and returns the embrace. “It’s not?”

“No,” Aramis emphasises, hugs Athos a little harder, “I’m just being stupid is all.”

“I’m sure you are being nothing of the sort,” Athos says softly, stroking his hands over Aramis’ back. “Porthos is … he is not displeased with … ahem … with your lack of intercourse. You needn’t fear that … if you are.”

Aramis is bright red, can feel the blush spread over his whole body, but he does not let go of Athos – not even when he hears Porthos’ voice from the direction of the corner to the bedrooms. “Well … and a good morning to me I guess.”

Aramis turns his head, turns a searching gaze on him, and can’t even be surprised when he finds him grinning. He watches Porthos approach and sighs in joyful anticipation, knows precisely what’s about to happen.

“Next time you leave the bed to cuddle Athos you better bring him back with you,” Porthos rumbles, and then he’s hugging them, is hugging them both.

Aramis sighs again and leans into him, relaxes completely.

“I’m late for my brunch with Ninon,” Athos states, and Porthos makes an interested noise.

“Didn’t know she was in town.”

“It was spontaneous,” Athos explains, drawing a “mh-hm” from Porthos, but nothing else. He waits a moment longer, allows himself to be hugged, but then he frees himself and slides off his barstool. “I don’t want to make her wait.”

When Aramis looks, Porthos has lifted both brows and is gazing at Athos in a manner that is both assessing and tentative. “Any reason why you didn’t invite us along?”

Athos looks at Aramis then – smiles at him. “Because I have had enough of you two and long for female company.”

“I knew it,” Porthos deadpans, and proceeds to drop a kiss on Athos’ brow. “Give her my love and tell her she’ll have to meet my boyfriend next time she’s in town.”

Aramis finds the slight blush to Athos’ cheeks adorable.

“Will do,” Athos says and retreats to the door to put on shoes and a jacket and take his leave.

Porthos grins. “You know what I love most about this? He really is meetin’ Ninon. Probably flew her in just so he wouldn’t have to lie to us.”

He looks at Aramis out of the corner of his eye, looks at the still untouched cup of coffee, and gives Aramis a mild aneurysm. “Will you look at that – he gave you his heart in a mug.”


	4. Chapter 4

Breakfast, or rather brunch, is a lengthy affair. Porthos makes pancakes and a fruit salad; Aramis discovers that Athos made enough coffee to last them through the day. Thus Porthos proceeds to schlepp it all (including chocolate sauce and whipped cream) into his bedroom and puts it on two bed trays he appears to have bought for this precise occasion _so he can snuggle Aramis while they eat_. That is a direct quote of his intentions, and Aramis needs about half an hour to recover from it. He feels tingly and warm, horribly comfortable.

The spring sun is eager to illuminate Porthos’ bedroom, the dark furniture and the mixture of brown and red colours dotted with the occasional green he picked for the walls and the sheets … it looks like a dragon’s lair for an especially friendly dragon. Aramis thinks it would look good with a sprinkle of gold here and there, thinks he should be going shopping for trinkets rather soon.

Porthos has neglected to put on a t-shirt, is still wearing nothing but his pyjama bottoms. To say that Aramis is quite fond of the overall picture that presents itself to him would be a major understatement. Porthos looks soft and inviting, and it doesn’t help at all that he keeps licking whipped cream out of the corner of his mouth. If he wasn’t so hungry, Aramis would forget to eat in favour of watching him. Things being as they are Porthos makes sure to steer Aramis’ attention back towards him at regular intervals by feeding him fresh fruit.

Once the worst of their hunger has abated Porthos puts his arm around Aramis’ shoulders, pulls him close and dips his head for a kiss. Aramis lets a little sigh escape, all blissful and happy, and then a moan slips out right afterwards. He has kissed Porthos so often now, they’ve shared sweet kisses, and playful ones, have kissed each other with and without tongue, with and without heat. This is different. Porthos is _claiming_ his mouth, is taking possession of it in the most delightful way, and Aramis can’t help but open up for him, can’t help but offer himself. He has waited so long to let go, to let it happen.

He whines when Porthos takes his mouth away, but since Porthos merely does so to put the trays to the side and get them out of the way, Aramis doesn’t complain any further. Instead he makes use of his freedom by moving onto Porthos’ lap – by spreading his thighs and moving as close to him as he possibly can. Porthos not only lets him, but pulls him in, puts his hands on Aramis’ ass and guides him closer. Aramis moans again, just can’t help it. He’s always been sensitive, has always found it difficult to hide his pleasure at being touched.

Porthos doesn’t seem to mind, answers Aramis’ moans with some content noises of his own, licks into Aramis’ mouth and kisses him breathless. He’s never been like this before, has never been so openly _sensual_ with Aramis, and it takes Aramis a while to realize that Porthos has been holding back all this time. That he was waiting for him, just like he promised. Aramis squeezes his eyes shut when the realization hits him, sucks Porthos’ tongue into his mouth and tries to get closer to him, clings to Porthos’ neck.

Again, Porthos lets him. He puts his arms around Aramis and holds him close, squeezes him a little, lets Aramis know that it’s okay, that this is it. Neither of them is going anywhere. They have time. So Aramis relaxes, sighs and gives in, loses most of his urgency.

Porthos hums into their kiss and strokes his hands over Aramis’ back – so big and warm and a little rough, _perfect_. Aramis sighs again, pulls back and breaks the kiss with an indecently wet noise. “I’m not … I’m not reading this wrong am I?”

Porthos chuckles and brushes a kiss to his warming cheek. “I probably should've asked first, eh?”

“No, no … it’s okay,” Aramis assures him, pressing closer again. “More than okay, really. I’ve … I’ve wanted this for a while.”

“So you said last night,” Porthos says quietly. “But you were _a little_ tipsy.”

“Yes,” Aramis admits, “I was. Thank you for … for not … taking advantage.”

Porthos looks a little sad now. “That happened, didn’t it? People takin’ advantage of you?”

“Sometimes, yes.” Aramis nods and allows his gaze to drop to Porthos’ chest. “Although I never realized it at the time … and neither did they, I think. They were good people. Friends. All of them. It was just … we never … we never stopped to think.”

Porthos strokes his hands over Aramis’ back, up and down, slow and gentle. “I can see how that might’ve happened. I had a little trouble thinkin’ myself yesterday.”

“Yes.” Aramis bites his lip. “Sorry about that.”

“No reason to be sorry,” Porthos murmurs, leans in and kisses Aramis lightly on the lips. “’S not your fault you’re an adorable drunk.”

“I wasn’t _drunk_ ,” Aramis fires up. “I was merely a little tipsy!”

“Yes, yes, alright, sorry,” Porthos says, sounding everything but. “Just a little tipsy.” He kisses Aramis on the nose. “So.” He clears his throat. “Was it just the champagne talkin’ last night? Cause if it was, we can turn this into a nice snuggle session.”

His voice moves through Aramis like something tangible, leaves him a little weak and breathless. “No, it … it wasn’t just the champagne talking,” he replies softly, still staring at Porthos’ chest. “You can … you can do –“

“We,” Porthos interrupts him gently, “ _we_ can do anything we like.” Aramis looks up at him at that and encounters a hopeful smile. “Ok?”

“Yeah,” Aramis breathes out, and then he’s already falling forward, is already falling into another kiss. His hands move over Porthos’ shoulders, urgent and restless at first. Then he calms down, remembers that they have time, that Porthos wants this just as much as he does … that he can do anything he likes. So he starts to explore Porthos’ skin, moves his hands over his chest, slowly and luxuriously. His touch is not so much tentative as reverent, and Porthos rewards him by pulling him deeper into his lap, by bucking his hips ever so lightly.

The movement is sufficient to lure a little gasp out of Aramis, and Porthos hums in approval, opens his mouth wider, deepens their kiss. It’s seductive and irresistible, the way he moves under Aramis, the way he moves against him, yet he never _pushes_. His touch remains light and gentle, even when Aramis starts to moan into the kiss.

Aramis is the one who gets greedy, is the one who throws caution and patience overboard and just lets go. He’s rather certain Porthos is going to catch him. Porthos does. He puts his hands on Aramis’ ass when he starts to move his hips, meets Aramis’ thrusts with little movements of his own. They’re both hard, and their kiss turns sloppy, and when Aramis whines and spreads his legs a little wider, Porthos pulls back and asks him what he wants. What immediately comes to mind is _everything_ , but that’s not what Aramis says. He licks his lips and looks down, takes a few deep breaths. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” Porthos says, his voice low and rough, and Aramis shivers pleasantly, reaches out and frees Porthos’ cock from the confinement of his shorts.

Aramis makes a little noise and closes his hand around it, loves the way Porthos goes still and holds his breath. “Good?”

“Yeah,” Porthos says again, and then he’s pulling down Aramis’ shorts too, closes one of those big warm hands around Aramis’ cock and just _holds_ it. “This good too?”

Aramis is rather sure that he is going to lose his mind before this is over.


	5. Chapter 5

“You okay?” Porthos asks, and all Aramis can do is nod. He’s biting his bottom lip, staring down at his cock in Porthos’ hand, and trying desperately not to come. He did that yesterday already, should have gotten the awkward, inexperienced teenager out of his system. But the fact of the matter is that he was never anything else, that he never really outgrew that phase. No matter how much experience he gained, he always remained … eager. He never used to be awkward though, it always felt natural to fall into bed with someone; either because he was madly in love and more than ready to express that emotion, or because he was sad and in search of comfort.

He never held back, never stopped to think. He’s certainly thinking now – overthinking even, doing his best to keep a clear head and not just fall into this arse over tits. He wants Porthos to enjoy himself, wants this to be special, wants –

“Aramis,” Porthos says, his voice low and soft, and leans in for a brief little kiss. “Breathe, darlin’ – you wanna stop?”

“No,” Aramis whispers, takes a deep breath as advised and swallows, “It’s just –“ He stops and takes another breath, starts to move his hand on Porthos’ cock. “What if … what if you don’t … like it?”

What if you don’t like _me_ , is what he doesn’t say. Porthos looks at him for a long moment, and then he leans in for another kiss, a longer one this time, calming and reassuring.

“What’s not to like?” he whispers when he pulls back, looks down at Aramis’ cock in his hand, gives it a little squeeze. Aramis is still hard, despite everything, and if that isn’t a metaphor for his life, he doesn’t know what is.

“Not to sound shallow,” Porthos continues, “but you’re awful pretty, you know that, right?” He pulls his hand away from Aramis’ cock, reaches around him to stroke both hands up and down his back instead. “First time I saw you in person I was a bit afraid you’d turn out to be a regular prick. But you’re not. You’re lovely, sweet and _cute_ …” He puts both hands on Aramis’ ass, pulls him closer, “and I really just wanna make you feel good.”

At that point Aramis lets out a helpless noise and kisses him, pushes his hips forward and moans when his cock brushes against Porthos’. Aramis has no idea what it is about Porthos’ voice, but it does things to him, makes him feel safe while simultaneously driving him absolutely insane. He whimpers Porthos’ name, presses closer to him, can’t stop moving his hips. Porthos holds him, kisses him back and moves against him, and Aramis stops being afraid – can’t be afraid when being treated like this. He pushes his ass back into Porthos’ hands, squirms back and forth on his lap, wants so much more. Porthos gives in to him, strokes his fingertips over Aramis’ cleft and pulls his cheeks apart, brushes his thumb over Aramis’ hole – grabs him and holds him still when Aramis bucks wildly in reaction.

“We don’t have to,” Porthos says, misreading the situation, “or you could –“

“No!” Aramis gasps, unable to keep still. “No, I – I want you inside.”

Porthos takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says, the strain on his self-control audible in his voice, “okay, we can do that.”

And then Aramis is on his back, with Porthos above him, kissing him surprisingly gently. He stops only to get rid of both their shorts, and then he’s back, hovers above Aramis and looks into his eyes. “You good?”

“Yes,” Aramis replies, smiling helplessly. “Yes, I’m _great_.”

Porthos’ expression turns fond, and Aramis pulls him in, kisses him again. “Do you … do you want me to open myself up?”

Porthos groans and proceeds to nuzzle Aramis’ cheek, lets out a few harsh breaths. “I’d like to do that for you, if you don’t mind.”

Aramis doesn’t mind at all, squirms happily and wraps his arms and legs around Porthos, enjoys all that warm skin against his own. Porthos kisses his cheek and then his earlobe, moves his mouth a little lower and sucks a mark over Aramis’ pulse, makes Aramis moan out his name again. Aramis keeps his eyes closed, bites his lip and arches his back, and then Porthos releases his neck and kisses him instead, just as gently as he did before. Both of them keep moving their hips, keep rubbing against each other, the friction just delicious enough to make Aramis see stars behind his closed lids.

He makes a helpless noise, and then Porthos is straightening, is looking down at him out of soft brown eyes for a long moment. “You want me to get the lube?” he asks eventually, and Aramis nods, eagerly and without a moment of hesitation – makes Porthos grin. “Okay then, I’ll get it.”

He stretches out over the bed, pulls open one of the drawers in his nightstand, and Aramis looks up at him, can’t get over the way the sunlight hits Porthos’ skin – can’t get over how good he looks. Porthos moves back over him with the bottle of lube in his hand, and Aramis gets a little fluttery, lifts his hips and moves them against Porthos’ with breathless impatience.

“I think I want you on top of me for this,” Porthos murmurs, and before Aramis knows what’s happening to him, Porthos rolls them around. The movement doesn’t so much leave him disoriented as stunned, and for a moment Aramis can only blink as he tries to get his bearings. Lying on top of Porthos as aroused as he is makes him feel strangely vulnerable, but not in a bad way. 

Porthos asks him if he’s alright again, and when Aramis tells him yes, it’s not a lie. He’s alright, perfectly alright even, flushed and _ready_. He spreads his legs, rolls his hips invitingly, and Porthos grins, puts his free hand on Aramis’ ass and squeezes it approvingly. “Here we go then.”

 

Part of the reason why Aramis’ previous partners fell into the habit of calling him a slut was his complete and utter inability to be quiet during intercourse, or even foreplay. Even now, with only one of Porthos’ fingers inside, he’s moaning, is making little ah-ah-ah noises that keep dripping over his lips no matter how hard he tries to keep them inside. He presses his face into Porthos’ chest to stifle them, tries to keep still and not give in to the temptation to push his ass up and spread his legs wider.

It’s been very long since he’s last been in this position, since someone else opened him up with slick warm fingers. The fact of the matter is that he’s never really gotten used to it. More often than not – far more actually – he was the one doing the penetrating, and the last time he had sex was … It really was a very long time ago, Aramis realizes. He’s been with Porthos for more than five months now, and even before that –

No wonder he’s so starved for it. He whimpers, presses his face harder against Porthos’ chest, tries his best just to _breathe_. Only then Porthos … stops. He doesn’t pull back his finger, but he stops moving it, stops going deeper in those delicious little circles that made Aramis’ toes curl.

“Aramis,” he says, his voice rough and low, “I wanna hear your voice, darlin’.”

Aramis doesn’t know what’s worse – the way Porthos says his name or the way he calls him darling. Aramis always had a weakness for pet names; with Porthos it has turned into something physical – a physical reaction that makes him go soft and warm, makes his chest light up with affection. Aramis lifts his head and looks at Porthos, looks into his eyes, hesitant and a little helpless. Porthos did promise never to call him a slut, _not unless Aramis wants him to_ , but then he never really got to witness how Aramis behaved when he got aroused. He never saw him let go.

“It’s ok,” Porthos whispers then, starts moving his finger again. “It’s ok, I promise. Just enjoy yourself, eh?”

Aramis lets out a deep breath of air, and with it all tension keeping him from letting go. He relaxes, starts moving his hips the way he wants to, spreads his legs and is as greedy as his body demands of him. He can’t go back now, doesn’t want to playact any more. Porthos is safe; he always was.

“That’s it,” Porthos whispers into his ear after a moment, makes Aramis shiver with the raw satisfaction in his voice, “Think you can take another finger?”

Aramis whimpers out a yes, and Porthos trusts his judgement, pulls out and pushes back in with two fingers, just as slippery and warm as before. The stretch is just right, makes Aramis’ eyes roll back into his head, makes his jaw drop and forces a sob up his throat and out of his mouth. Porthos hums and kisses Aramis’ cheek, says that he really likes that Aramis enjoys this so much, calls him a darling again, strokes his free hand up and down Aramis’ back.

Aramis feels safe and _loved_ , tells Porthos that he needs more, that it feels so good – that he needs Porthos to fuck him. Porthos’ free hand glides down and onto Aramis’ ass then, gives it a good squeeze. “I will, don’t you worry. I’m gonna take such good care of you, darlin’.”

There’s a dark promise in his voice, and Aramis whines, spreads his legs as wide as they will go – offers himself.

“That’s it,” Porthos whispers again, takes the invitation and pushes deeper into him, scissors his fingers inside Aramis, twists them a little. “That’s it darlin’, you just let it out.”

Aramis can feel his hard cock against his own, can feel their pre-come on his skin, mingling between them. The physical closeness alone would already be enough to light up his body and satisfy his need for intimacy, but this is something else entirely. He closes his eyes and kisses Porthos’ chest, licks over the warm skin and bites into it – wants to leave a mark, a visual reminder of – The proof that – He just wants to belong to Porthos so very much – wants Porthos to belong to him in return.

Aramis’ efforts tease a little moan out of Porthos, and Aramis shivers, kisses the mark his teeth have left, doesn’t know if he should say he’s sorry. He’s not, not even a little, but then Porthos might not enjoy being bitten. Aramis should have asked, really.

“Come up here,” Porthos murmurs then, his voice even rougher than before. “Put that mouth of yours on mine and gimme a kiss.”

He spreads his fingers inside Aramis just when Aramis is about to obey that command – makes Aramis buck his hips and moan into Porthos’ mouth. The stretch feels amazing, but Porthos’ mouth feels even better – the way he kisses Aramis without even a hint of finesse. It’s sloppy and dirty, and Aramis’ whole body reacts to it, makes him rub up against Porthos and clench down on his fingers, makes him suck on Porthos’ tongue. He’s already a mess, and Porthos isn’t even inside of him yet.

 

The thing about being on top, Aramis muses as he desperately tries not to lose his mind, is how utterly exposed you are. Sure, it gives you the illusion of control, gives you a nice vantage point from which you can look down at your partner, but then it also leaves you in the spotlight. He’s sitting on Porthos, legs spread wide, Porthos’ cock as deep inside as it goes, and he _can’t move_ , can’t move a single muscle and get this show on the road. He feels breathless, wonderfully full, and the way Porthos is looking at him –

Porthos is just so _beautiful_. Aramis keeps getting lost in his eyes, can’t stop _touching_ him. He has no idea how this happened – why Porthos would decide to keep him – but he’s determined not to fuck it up this time, is determined to stick around, possibly forever, and GOD, that was a horrible pun, that was the most horrible pun –

“How about you breathe a little, eh?” Porthos asks him in a low voice. “Relax and let some air in.”

Aramis blinks and Porthos moves his hands, lets go of Aramis’ hips and strokes them up his sides, moves them onto Aramis’ chest. “You look as though you’re about to faint on me.”

“Not going to faint,” Aramis promises him – and he doesn’t recognize his own voice, so low and rough. “It’s just so –“

Porthos soothes him, keeps stroking his hands over Aramis’ heated skin … asks him to relax, to breathe and enjoy himself.

“It’s been so very long,” Aramis whispers in the end, and suddenly Porthos’ hands are on his ass, squeeze him a little.

“Yeah, I can tell.” He sounds horribly smug. Aramis loves him so much.

He also moans and _moves_ , and Porthos chuckles, squeezes him again before he strokes his hands back to Aramis’ hips. “You like that?”

Aramis whimpers his name, a little helpless, but without a smidgen of embarrassment. “Yes, yes I like it.”

Now that he’s started to move he can’t seem to stop, tries to lift his hips a little higher this time, tries to establish a rhythm. Porthos helps him along, his hands warm and secure on Aramis’ hips, and it feels so very good to have him inside – to have him looking at Aramis the way he does. He keeps asking Aramis if he’s okay, if he feels good, and Aramis always says yes, even when his thigh-muscles start to tire and sweat is running down his nose. It feels so very good.

“You look gorgeous,” Porthos tells him apropos of nothing, and how Aramis manages to get enough blood up to his face to blush he has no idea. Porthos sees and grins at him, warns Aramis that he’s going to sit up and kiss him right now. The change in position when he does makes Aramis gasp, and then they’re kissing, deep and slow. Aramis closes his eyes and loses himself in the sensation, moans approvingly when Porthos starts to move against him.

It feels amazing to be held by Porthos like this, to be kissed like this. Aramis puts his arms around Porthos’ neck to hold him close, starts to move as well, and it’s difficult in this position, but _god_ it feels good. He gasps when Porthos grabs his ass again, when he lifts him up just to pull him down again, and the manhandling alone gets Aramis so hard that he leaks all over himself and Porthos. Only then Porthos tips him _back_ , follows him down until Aramis is looking up at him, lying on the mattress, breathless and stunned.

“Better?” Porthos asks him, and all Aramis can do is hook his ankles behind Porthos’ ass and pull him as close as he can.

“Fuck me, please,” he moans, because he wants to know how it _feels_ to be on the receiving end of … Porthos, basically.

“And here I thought I was already doin’ that,” Porthos teases him, his voice soft and fond. “You sure you want it harder – sure you can take it?”

“Yes,” Aramis says, and Porthos doesn’t ask him again. Porthos does as he’s told.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm available on [tumblr](http://uenaina.tumblr.com/) if you need me.


End file.
